


something to keep

by bambilong



Category: Guardians of the Galaxy (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: All of the Issues, Childhood Trauma, Communication Issues, F/M, Gamora has anger issues towards herself, Gamora needs a hug, Gift Giving, I APOLOGIZE, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, I'm Bad At Tagging, Peter Quill has a MASSIVE crush, Pre-Movie: Guardians of the Galaxy Vol. 2, Thanos is his own warning, Trust Issues, What else is new, but like, i'm really into writing gamora, in a pure way, rocket is the ship's therapist
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-14
Updated: 2018-09-14
Packaged: 2019-07-12 09:21:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,610
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15992303
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bambilong/pseuds/bambilong
Summary: After defeating Ronan, Gamora has a difficult time letting herself become comfortable with her new family. It becomes an issue when Peter asks her about why she doesn't have anything on the ship that's really hers, and she snaps at him. Set pre-vol.2.aka gamora is stubborn as hell and hates talking about anything, ever





	something to keep

**Author's Note:**

> i am OBSESSED with writing gamora's POV, but halfway through this I switched to write peter's POV to try it out since i've never written in it before, so .... i apologize
> 
> also, i wrote this at five in the morning to work out some personal stress i had been having, so if theres typos like.. feel free to let me know LMFAO
> 
> enjoy!

Gamora Zen Whoberi Ben Titan had spent more than half her life serving a madman whose only goal was to wipe out _half_ of existence. Balancing the universe, he called it. 

 Whatever she _might_ have learned on her home planet, he drove away from her with a sort of disgust that she had never quite came across of since. The only thing she was able to salvage, to _remember_ so vividly that not even _years_ of torture could drive out of her brain, was the single beaded braid she adorned for most of her time with him. It was the last thing she held onto, the only thing she refused to let him take from her.

 When she decided to join the Guardians, they seemed almost surprised that she didn’t have many material items laying around the ship.

 She was taught - _trained -_ not to get attached to things. Not specifically something that Thanos had taught her, but rather something she taught herself. Getting attached to things never ended well, as life will find a way to tear it from you in some vicious way or another. She relayed this information to Quill, when he had asked her about it with some strange, almost _boyish_ curiosity, and the man was downright befuddled.

  _He’s like a child,_ she wanted to complain. _But he barely had a childhood, much like you,_ a voice nearly shouted back at her. _Stop blaming_ him _._

 “What, so… you had _nothing?”_ he questioned, resting himself back against the metal wall behind him. 

 “ _You_ had nothing when you left Earth,” she nearly spat back at him, immediately taking fault with the harshness of her own voice.

 “I had my Walkman! Y’know, and… whatever else was in my backpack,” he trailed off a bit, looking a bit despondent. What she wouldn’t give to have the ability to kick herself in her own jaw.

He merely _asked a question,_ and she snapped at him as if he burned her. She wanted to blame it on the fact that she was tired, maybe, or that she was worried about the mission they were running, or that she was stressed with the thought of _finding her sister,_ but none of it was true. She was just… angry, all the time, frustrated. Frustrated by the fact that she lost _years_ to Thanos. Nearly a decade. 

 But she was also angry with herself.

 She had a new family, _this_ family, and she couldn’t even bring herself to be happy about it. To get attached, like everyone else seemingly had already gotten attached to each other. Rocket and Quill bickered, Drax and Rocket joked, they _all_ raised new, baby Groot, (she still didn’t quite… get that,) and she would just… close herself off.

 On everyone else’s part, it wasn’t for lack of trying, _especially_ not Quill, who always had something to say to her, constantly tried to make her feel… included, for lack of a better term, and on more than one occasion, nearly tripped over himself from looking at _her_ instead of looking where he was _walking._ Rocket, occasionally, when he wasn’t completely agitated by anything else, sat quietly beside her as he tinkered with the latest weapon of mass destruction he was crafting. They didn’t talk much, which he insisted wasn’t a personal thing, he just sort of knew she… wasn’t into talking. She’d watch him work, for a bit, and then they’d be on their separate ways. That was fine. Drax, who had previously wanted her _dead,_ even tried to make her feel slightly comfortable, stating that he no longer connects her with Thanos, that she is her own person, and will be treated as such.

 Oddly, that was more comforting then it should have been.

 It was common sense, honestly, because she _wasn’t_ Thanos, and she didn’t _want_ to do the things that he made her do, but even _she_ had a hard time remembering that. The lifestyle that he had built, allegedly to better suit her, was still absolutely _imbedded_ into her brain. The things she did… the blood that had stained _her_ hands… she wondered if she’d ever stop wanting to scrub them so hard.

 “Y’know, it’s okay,” she heard a voice pull her out of her thoughts, only to spin around and find that it belonged to Rocket. 

 “What’s okay?” her eyes narrowed a bit, looking around to find that Peter had wandered off. _When did that happen?_

 “To not… be okay… I guess,” the alien rubbed at the back of his own neck, sighing as he set down his belongings on the table beside him. “I know its ‘hard, y’know, adjustin’,” he was making very grand arm gestures to the space around him, almost to emphasize his point. “It’s hard for me, too.”

 “…It is?” If it was, he never let on such a thing. He seemed so… casual, aloof, maybe. 

 “Well, yeah, have you met me?” his voice was followed by a chuckle, and his shoulders lifted in a half-shrug, “Do I _look_ like a people person to you?”

 “…This isn’t one of those trick-questions, is it?”

 “Nah, hey,” he held up his hands, almost like he was defending himself, “all I’m sayin' is, it’s gonna take some time. For you,” he paused, then, looking her over for a moment and then decisively nodding. “with what _you_ went through? It’s gonna take a _while.”_

 He didn’t wait for her to respond, or even register what he actually said, before taking off. Her shoulders slumped, tension that she didn’t even realize she had leaving her in a rush, and…

 Maybe, _maybe,_ he had a point.

 It still didn’t mean it wasn’t absolutely _infuriating_.

 

———————————*—-—————————

 

Peter Quill was a simple man. Or, at least, he’d like to think so. He wasn’t picky, he didn’t anger easily ( _liar),_ and with all things considered, he was the most laid-back person on the ship.

 One thing that would _always_ irritate him, no matter what, was being awoken suddenly. 

 Especially if he was awoken by a seemingly irritated Gamora, who jostled his arm so hard he woke up startled, banging his head on the divider that was above his bunk. 

  _“Ow?”_ he grumbled, rubbing his forehead as the sleep dissolved in his eyes, slowly, looking up towards where Gamora was practically towering over him. He realized, then, that she didn’t look irritated at all, simply… upset? Maybe? She seemed to have that frown permanently etched into her features, so it was… hard to tell. “Is everythi -“

 “I _have_ to apologize.” she stated, firmly, arms folded neatly behind her back.

 “I - you - I mean, okay, but,” he took a second, sitting himself up carefully. The pain in his forehead was the least of his concern, at this point, as it faded into a dull throb. “What exactly do you _have_ to apologize for?” he tried to ignore the way that her face twitched with annoyance when he mocked her tone a bit, deciding now isn’t… the best time to be a dick.

 “I simply…” she let out a heavy sigh, her shoulders rolling forward with the effort. Being more awake, he realizes what he tends to realize _every_ time he looks at her, and it’s that she’s undeniably the most beautiful woman he has ever known. Outside, yes, but also inside. She was caring, though she had an _awful_ way of showing it sometimes, in the few short months he’s known her, he still can’t seem to realize why people _hate_ her.

 Well, okay, she _was_ the daughter of Thanos, so that might be why, but that was a while ago, alright? Let it go.

 “… and - are you listening to a word I’m saying?” her voice cuts back in to his thoughts, like a scratch to a record.

 “… _God,_ okay, no, I’m sorry,” she throws her hands in the air at the admission, absolutely beside herself, and she turns to walk away before Peter catches her arm in protest. “I’m sorry! I’m sorry. It’s late, an’ I’m just - please, talk to me? I’ll listen this time. Pinky promise…?”

 He holds up his _stupid_ pinky, and she just stares at it, then back at him, like he’s grown two heads.

 “Alllllllright, never mind _that,”_ he mutters, as he’s lowering his hand. “What’s up?”

 She’s still squinting at him, just a bit, subtly pulling her arm from his grip as she decides on folding them over her chest. Since Knowhere, he hasn’t known her to really apologize about _anything,_ not that she really needed to. She looks like she might have been thinking about this for hours, and it _is_ late, but that’s when he realizes that with all the other things that she doesn’t _need_ to do, she probably doesn’t need to sleep much.

 “Earlier… I was rude.” she states, nails biting at the skin on her opposite arm. “You… asked me a question, and I got angry, but I wasn’t _supposed_ to be angry. Not at you. You didn’t do anything wrong, not really, and… no. I didn’t get to take anything from my homeworld. I didn’t even -“ a sigh leaves her, like this is taking more effort than she had previously thought it was going to, “I didn’t get to say goodbye to my mother.”

 Oh.

  _Oh._

 Peter Quill was not usually considered a speechless man. In more than one instance, people couldn’t get him to _stop_ talking. But whatever words he might have found to forgive her, or to say _something_ encouraging, reassuring, Christ, literally _any word in the history of words ever,_ died at the back of his throat. He could barely manage a swallow. 

 As awful as it probably is, his mind goes back to his own mother. He got to see her, before she died, but it wasn’t nearly a proper goodbye. He was bitter, cold, even _angry_ at her, for something she couldn’t control, something neither of them could fix, and when she begged him to take her hand, he hadn’t. Out of some obnoxious, childish protest on his part.

 He really wish he could _stop_ thinking about it.

 Gamora didn’t talk much about her life with Thanos, and has never spoken about her life before him until this very moment, and some weird part of him is insanely proud of her.

 “…I realized,” she continues, after a few moments of silence. “I’m not the only one who… had a poor childhood, for lack of a better term.” she even scoffs out half of a laugh, he thinks. Though he can’t really be sure if it’s a laugh or some sort of grumble.

 “You don’t have to compare childhoods around here, Gams,” he says with a sigh, finding himself sitting back down against the mattress of his bunk, patting the space next to him. If she  _really_ wanted to start comparing it, they'd be here all night.

 “I’m not _comparing_ anything, Quill, I just -“ but then she cuts herself off, with a roll of her eyes, and settles next to him. For lack of a better _idea_ , he imagines.

 The silence that falls over them isn’t uncomfortable as it is sad, he realizes. They’re both from opposite sides of the galaxy, ripped from their homes as children, basically forgetting anything they might have learned on their home-planets in order to survive. In truth, Yondu was absolutely _nothing_ like Thanos, and for that he was grateful, but she was right. It was still hard. He still kept his backpack tucked away.

 That’s when he gets one of his, probably stupid, ideas.

 He reaches down under his bunk, feeling her eyes staring at the back of his head as he does it, ( _it’s not personal,_ he has to remind himself, _she has a hard time trusting people. So do you.)_ and drags out the small pack to rest it on his lap. It seems to get smaller every time he looks at it. He starts to rifle through it, squinting his eyes a bit until his hand comes over what he means to pull out, and placing it in her lap.

 She looks… confused, picking up the object almost _delicately,_ and he really wants to grin at that, before she’s tilting her head at him. “What is this?”

 “A yo-yo,” he replies, simply.

 “A - what?”

 “It’s like, here,” he takes it back from her, carefully, she almost seems _reluctant_ to let it go, as he attaches the string to his finger and flicks his wrist, watching _her_ as her eyes follow it up until it comes back to him. “It’s like a toy, I guess? I used to be good at it, just be careful you don’t do it to hard and hit yourself in the face.”

 She still looks the slightest bit puzzled, but holds open her hand for him to place it back into her palm. He grins, obliging, and she studies it for a while, fingertips curiously running over where it had developed some ridges into it over the years. “It’s… nice.”

 “Glad you like it,” he chuckles. “It’s _yours_.”

 “Why?” she asks, but it’s not necessarily in a malicious way. Sometimes, she tends to think that he might be condescending towards her, so when she responds to what he says with a _why,_ it’s usually an angry snap. This time, it seemed to come from a gentle curiosity.

 “…I’ve got a lot of junk, over the years,” he admits, rubbing at the back of his neck. “Stuff I got to take while I was with Yondu, some stuff I wasn’t _supposed_ to take, y’know, things like that,” he looks at her, then, and her gaze had softened immensely, and he _swears_ he can see the corner of her lips twitch, like she wants to smile. “ _You_ didn’t get to take anything, and if you did, you didn’t get to _keep_ it. Besides the sword, obviously, but -“ he cuts himself off again, watching as her fingertip curls into the string.

 “I want you to keep that,” he breathes, and it only hits him how soft his voice sounded after he speaks. “Start up your own collection of junk, you deserve it.”

 She’s quiet, for what feels like a minute, just staring at the yo-yo, and he starts to think this might have been a dumb idea. He might have gone too far, or said something wrong, or just _been_ wrong in general, and -

 “Thank you,” her voice is quiet, and he can barely hear it over the heartbeat that’s constant in his own ears.

 He swallows, trying to regain some sort of shred of composure he might have, replies casually with, “not a problem.”

 He swears he sees her smile, to herself. _She’s got enhanced hearing, right? Can she_ hear _me having a heart attack? Christ._

 “I’ll let you get back to sleep,” she decides, standing herself up, clutching onto the yo-yo as if it’s her new lifeline. She pauses at the doorway, before turning to him, and offering him _an actual smile._ “Thank you, Peter.”

 She’s gone before he can say anything.

 Peter Quill was a simple man, who, very simply, wanted to make Gamora smile for the rest of her life.

 

——-—————-*——-—————-

 

Gamora Zen Whoberi Ben Titan had spent more than half her life serving a madman whose only goal was to wipe out _half_ of existence. As much as he took from her, she had the fullest intention of taking it back. She wanted to be _herself_ , not the version of herself that she had invested in to keep herself alive. 

 That starts, by allowing herself to become comfortable where it counts. With her new family.

 …It also starts by learning how to work this yo-yo.

**Author's Note:**

> come talk to me on twitter @gaymra, tumblr @jediquill, or instagram @pirateangels!
> 
> kudos and comments are always appreciated!


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